


Porcelain

by spensierata



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s07e15 En Ami, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, i try to fix en ami, post ep, tw for anything that may or may not have happened in en ami
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 22:09:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15716067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spensierata/pseuds/spensierata
Summary: Post-ep for En Ami, Scully lets her vulnerable side show.





	Porcelain

She got back from her road trip with a hint of smoke in her hair and a little black dress in the boot of her car he had never seen before. She quietly seethed through his impassioned rant and never spoke of what transpired, giving only noncommittal non-verbal clues. It said a whole lot, when he demands if He touched her, when all she could give him was a shrug. Scully drew her strength from stoicism. Maybe it stemmed from the mute devotion of a good Catholic girl. A Navy brat who was seen and not heard. Seeing her in her wordlessness, saying so much with silence. With rolled eyes, arched eyebrows, curled lips, he was wrong, he was crazy, he was maybe, possibly onto something. He picked up on her expressions and learned to speak her language. They were fluent in the  ways they could say I miss you, I need, you, I love you, without saying anything at all.

He was lingering, his hand poised somewhere on her spine, a weak gesture of remorse or forgiveness, for the parabolic glasses that had been thrown. Uncomfortable with the state of obliviousness that she had left him in, angered by her mask of nonchalance. He couldn’t help but blame himself, his quest had become mangled with hers the moment she’d reached out and taken his hand and taken his burden and told him she was looking forward to it. He felt sick to his stomach as he watched her wash down a little white pill with a tall glass of white, and in a subtle but pointed nod towards the door, she withdrew to the shower. Her third. He’d counted. 

Scully left the door unlocked and ajar. Tendrils of steam seeping into the hall like a hot rolling fog. Like smoke from a cigarette. Mulder set his jaw and tried not to think and waded through the mist. Her back was to him, chin to chest, her hair fell around her face like a waterfall of rust. The blood-red ring of her tattoo stood out in violent contrast against her porcelain skin, the porcelain tiles, mocking him with the memory of the last time she’d misplaced her trust, the last time she’d left him in the dark. Hurt, frustrated, worried fucking sick. Jealous? He’d refused to give them the satisfaction. All of it evaporated. She looked so fucking fragile as she shuffled under the spray, made herself even smaller, as though she could merely slip and disappear down the drain.

He shed his clothes on top of hers in the haphazard mess on the floor and filled the Mulder-sized space she’d left him. He pressed his lips softly to the fading scar on the nape of her neck, tasted the bitter soap which lingered on her skin. She leaned into him and took a long, shuddering breath. He was not a stranger to her shower head, to say the least. They had stood here before, just like this. A scenario in which she might have dug her nails sharp into his skin,  _ rougher _ , they plead, dragging them down his arms. Their bodies slip against slick tiles, his mouth filled with water, with her name, with her tongue.

  
Not tonight. Instead, when Mulder’s arms came up to curl around her, she turned into his chest. They stood still. Entangled in each other until the water down their backs ran cold. He reluctantly broke their embrace only as Scully began to shiver, reaching around her to turn off the tap. She looked up at him, the last of the water droplets rolling down her cheeks. Mulder finally caught a glimpse of her rimmed red eyes and tried to kid himself that it was the shampoo. Scully caught his hand as he pulled it back, bringing it up to her trembling purple lips and kissed the centre of his palm. Still, he felt her mouth stretch into a smile against his skin. A genuine, grateful, life-ruining little smile.  _ Thank you. I love you. I am not about to break _ .


End file.
